


All of The Words We Never Said

by drygin



Series: Birchcaster [6]
Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: F/F, Heavy Angst, I woke up and chose violence, Unhappy Ending, but there may yet be an Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drygin/pseuds/drygin
Summary: Nancy squints at Bonny like the answer should be obvious. “I came for you. I want to bring you back to London with me.”Bonny's grin is cruel, sharp as a fishhook at the corner of her mouth. “And what would I do there? Spread my legs for men poor and proper in your house?”“Anything is better than what you’re doing here.” Nancy lifts a gloved palm to Bonny’s cheek. Threading her fingers through the sweat-sodden curls of Bonny’s dark hair, she sees the other woman’s expression soften. The lively light that used to fill her eyes has vanished, replaced by hauntingly dark undercircles. “Hurting yourself like this for a few coins, it isn’t living, Bonny."
Relationships: Nancy Birch/Bonny Lancaster
Series: Birchcaster [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805314
Kudos: 3





	All of The Words We Never Said

Bonny is a passenger amidst a thrashing sea. Clinging to the sides of a cramped rowboat, she lowers her head between her legs to avoid being slapped upside the head by the waves — wrathful and aggressive as they crash against the boat, spitting bubbles of froth into Bonny’s eyes and hair. Her mouth stings with the taste of salt, dry on her tongue, and although the sea is storm-angry, the sun beats down onto her back with equal ferocity.

In some sensical corner of her mind, she would question how it’s at all possible for the sun to be so prominent during a storm, but it’s too hot to think and if she doesn’t lean the boat the correct way when it is jostled, it will capsize, and the sea will swallow her.

An oar almost slips off the side of the boat, Bonny reaching out to grasp it before the whirlpooling sea can engulf it. Seawater splashes her hand, and she plunges her wrist down under the surface of the water, wrestling the oar from the waves.

Before she can tug it back inside the boat, an arm snares her torso, yanking her backwards so she loses her grip on the oar.

“Bonny,” a voice warns, urgent and low by her ear. She recoils at the sensation of coarse facial hair scratching past her neck, clawing at the recognisable dark-blue wool sleeve of the arm barred across her chest. As a last resort, she throws her head back and gnashes her teeth at whatever body part is closest, causing Marius to leap away, but then the boat rocks violently off-balance, swinging forwards and casting both of them into the sea.

Even still, Marius’s hands grope for her. Bonny lashes out with kicks and punches, every one of the strikes made slow and leaden by the cold depths of seawater. With a desperate shove, she flounders for the surface, screaming bubbles from her throat as misshapen creatures of the deep tie ropes of seaweed around her hands and feet to drag her deeper into darkness.

Lungs aflame, her fingers score lines through the lip of water separating her from air. Finally, her head is grabbed, pulled up, and brought to meet it. Bonny gasps, panting for breath. She’s tolerable of the hands holding her head for now, grateful to be able to breathe. There’s something comfortingly familiar about the touch, but she expects the merciless sea to pull her down again at any second and begins flailing with her arms to stay afloat, her breathing shallow with panic.

“You’ve netted yourself in these bedsheets, have you?” The straps of seaweed are peeled off from around her limbs, loosened and untied.

The same voice snaps at her again, “Stop floundering about!”

“Nancy?”

“Not quite.”

Blinking blearily, the haze creeps out of Bonny’s eyes to reveal the ordinary attic room inside the tavern. She is sprawled on the floor beneath the bed. Whelma sits in front of her, smiling though her face is reddened.

Bonny starts, more afraid than she had been while drowning in her nightmare only moments ago. She has never seen the silver-haired woman cry. Hamish is standing behind her, leaning against the headboard of the bed with a wary but relieved expression on his face. Bonny grimaces at the ache drilling between her temples, rubbing them with her fingers. “Sorry, Whelma,” she murmurs.

“It’s Hamish you should be apologising to. You just about bit the boy’s ear off when you woke up, though it was stupid of him to grab you like he did.”

There’s an overturned pitcher on the bedside table, dribbling water into a puddle on the floorboards. Whelma sets it upright, tutting to herself while Hamish helps Bonny to stand up from the tangled bedsheets twisted around her ankles. Her legs tremble as he guides her to sit down on the bed, brushing off her profuse apologies concerning the bitemark just under his ear.

“You gave us a scare,” he says, Bonny’s arm lifted over his shoulder. He looks at her fondly, but then the same night flashes across both of their eyes. It had happened before Bonny met Nancy, when both of them were tipsy after one too many drinks. A clumsy kiss had led to clumsier and unpassionate sex against a wall, the driest kind of rutting which in turn led to a promise to stay friends and never speak of the occurrence again. It had cemented the fact that Bonny loved the fairer sex, and Hamish the rougher.

He looks away from her, but squeezes her hand, readopting his usual gruff voice. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Your Nancy Birch was here,” Whelma calls out. “She stayed with us for a few days but had to leave. I’ll send her a letter, she’ll be glad to know you’re awake.”

“No,” Bonny replies, causing both of her friend’s heads to turn in her direction, their faces twisted with worry. “I mean no, I’ll write the letter.”

“As you wish. I’ll bring some things up to your room.” Whelma nods, disappearing through the small door leading back into the tavern.

Bonny stares at Hamish, watching the dusky blond's eyes flit around the room, his gaze landing on different things.

“Are you looking for an excuse to leave too?” she asks him, guilty for a moment when her rough tone causes Hamish to flinch, his face pinching with a hurt look. “Sorry. My throat’s sore.”

“I’d get you a cup of water, but…” Hamish gestures to the empty pitcher near the bed, its contents spilled over the floorboards. Part of it is soaking into a rag Whelma threw half-heartedly at the mess earlier. “We’re all out.”

They share a quiet, forced laugh.

“Are you okay?” Hamish asks her honestly.

“I’m fine.”

“Alright. I’ll leave you to get some sleep, then. Don’t worry about the mess,” he assures her. “You might hear some commotion from downstairs — there’s going to be another prize fight tonight. We have one every fortnight.” Whelma re-enters the attic room with a scowl, carrying a tray atop which there is a pot of ink, paper, and a tankard brimming full of liquor. Bonny yearns for the warmth of ale on her tongue and in her stomach, but Hamish steals the drink from the tray with a disapproving look at Whelma.

"Bonny doesn't need this."

“She'll need something to help her sleep with all the noise. I told you to postpone that fight,” Whelma mutters in a curt voice.

“We need the coin. The tavern’s been closed for too long,” Hamish replies.

“On my account,” Bonny murmurs.

Whelma opens her mouth to deny the statement, but thinks better of it. “I’ll have none of your righteous self-pity, girl. You’re up now. After some rest, you’ll get your strength back and we’ll find you something to do.”

 _Something to do._ The reality that her purpose, her calling as Quartermaster on a navy ship she had once been so sure of has vanished, and that she’ll have to make up a completely new and different use for herself strikes a deeper fear into her heart than she has ever known. Marius, her ship, her crew, everything she cares for has left her. Even Nancy has fled back to London after one glimpse of the shrivelled husk of the person she is now. Useless, abandoned, and forgotten.

The dread must show on her face because Whelma takes her arm, holding a hand to the side of her face until her breathing slows and she refocuses her gaze on the other woman’s concerned face. “Sleep first, pet. We’ll worry about the rest later.”

“I’ve done nothing but sleep for the past few days," Bonny says, attempting a flimsy smile.

“Little more won’t hurt,” Whelma retorts, the looks in her eyes telling Bonny she won’t be swayed on the matter.

Reluctantly, Bonny settles back in bed. Before Whelma and Hamish can leave, Bonny calls out to them, “Have you told the law about Marius? All of the deplorable things he’s done, he deserves to be…trialled.” Bonny’s expression crinkles with distaste. Despite the anger bleeding from inside her chest, she can’t bring herself to wish death upon the man who has taught her so much.

When Whelma turns around to look at her, her face is soft. “Bonny…” she begins, uncertain how to broach the subject.

“You haven’t told them,” Bonny realises.

“There’s no point! He could be anywhere in the world by now.”

“They could send people out to look for him,” Bonny protests. “He could be apprehended. The search would be made easier for them if they knew the same of the ship he captains!”

“By telling the lawmen, you would be linked right to his crimes! Whether you were aware of his true nature or not, working under the service of such a man while he stole and killed as he liked makes you an accomplice. You could be jailed.”

“What do you suggest I do? Sit back and allow Marius to keep up his game? He’ll spin another web of lies under a new alias and ruin more lives. How can I idly stand by and let that happen?”

“Admit he got the better of you,” Whelma answers. “Accept it and move on. Don’t let your pride be the death of you. We told Nancy your wish was the same, that Marius should be let alone."

Bonny’s mouth twitches, her blood boiling under her skin. “Do you take me for a coward?” She means to sound intimidating, but her voice breaks. Marius had almost killed her, he mulled over the idea of letting his crew tear her apart while she sat imprisoned on his ship. He’s despicable, and she should hate him.

So why does a part of her wish that he would take her back? She wishes she could fall asleep and wake up to the world changed back to the way it was before when she was oblivious and her word held sway over her Captain and crew. The wool has been torn from her eyes, and she despises how the world looks now.

**~~O~~ **

Nancy presses the end of her quill firmly down onto the page, the strokes of her writing so ferocious and rough that it is torn in places. _You’re a liar, Bonny Lancaster._ Her words read as bitter as the taste of gin on her tongue. _And a terrible one at that. You should know your friend Whelma leaves her own little footnotes on your letters before she sends them to me. You tell me you are eating fine and well. She says on most days she can barely get one meal down you. You worry me, you stupid woman. Write me back._

She settles back into her chair, running her fingers shakily through her unkempt hair. She knows better than anyone that Bonny thrives off the attention and praise of others. Without a purpose, it is only a matter of time before she does something arrogantly foolish.

Nancy tries to console herself with the thought she can convince Bonny to come to London where she can build a new identity. She will keep the woman safe and put her back together. She has done the same for Violet and Betsey, picking up the pieces of their ruined lives and teaching them how to survive on the streets.

Bonny won’t have to endure London's horrors lurking around every corner in the city. She will have Nancy, her arms, and bed for warmth and sanctuary. If only she’ll accept them.

Two months after her last visit, Nancy leaves her house in the care of Violet and Betsey to go to Eddings, and leaves on the exact same day. Standing in front of the tavern, the candlelight streaming out of the windows from inside washes over her face. The voices inside are booming, men and women drinking heartily at tables and interlocked in vulgar conversation. She had chosen to leave her birch in Soho to assuage the risk of having it stolen on the journey, but she regrets the loss deeply now.

A makeshift ring has been formed in the middle of the tavern, bordered by chains of people and overturned furniture. Nancy can hardly hear herself think over the roaring and jeering of the tipsy audience, their blood raised from drink.

The dark-haired bird grappling with a tall male opponent in the middle of the ring bears a striking resemblance to the woman she loves. Bonny’s hair is longer than she’s ever seen it. Clad in men’s trousers, her chest is wrapped tightly with gauze. Her body is skinny, her shoulders flecked with bleeding scratches, and some nasty bruising has risen to the surface of her skin beneath one eye.

Stalking around Bonny, the male fighter grimaces, searching for a break in her guard. Their feet squeal in puddles of sweat and blood on the floor. Bonny throws a decent punch, winding him, but he catches her arm and she is thrown across the room, her back colliding against the flat side of a table with a sickly thud that makes Nancy clench her teeth.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, hurrying to the front of the audience. She doesn’t know what to say for this reunion she hasn’t planned for, but she pushes her way through the crowd until she is leaning close enough to Bonny to grab her arm, the other woman still bleary-eyed as she pushes herself up onto her knees.

Nancy yanks Bonny forwards, trying to pull her from the ring, but the crowd boos and argues unhappily. Though unfocused, her mouth slurring incomplete words and her breath stinking of too much drink, Bonny has enough sense in her head to fight her grip, knowing there's still a fight to be had that's unfinished.

Looking into Nancy’s face, her dark eyes flicker with some form of remembrance, but she scowls and shoves her palms into Nancy’s shoulders, pushing her back.

“Get ‘way…get away!”

“He’s thrashing you, Bonny,” Nancy says, her mouth inches from Bonny’s ear. “Cut your losses and leave with some dignity!”

Bonny shrugs off her hand, hauling herself up onto her feet. Nancy goes to find Hamish, the bar boy tending to the orders of several customers thirsty for drink. She approaches him with a dark look in her eyes, but Hamish interrupts her before she can speak.

"She does this every fortnight," he says calmly, arranging tankards on the shelf behind him. "Wins a few fights, gets too cocky. She'll forfeit the fight when she realises it's more than she can handle."

True to Hamish's word, Bonny swaggers out of the ring later with all of the brash overconfidence of a drunken man despite the man leering behind her as he collects his winnings. She sits down on a stool at the bar, paying Nancy no mind, and cradles a bowl of oatmeal Hamish hands her over the countertop. When she finally glares at Nancy out of the corner of her eye, her brow furrows. “Are you going to sit there and stare, or tell me what it is you want?”

“Is that the way you greet me after all this time?” Nancy demands with a sharpness to her voice even Bonny can’t deflect.

She has the decency to drop her gaze, murmuring around a dry lump of oatmeal, “You didn’t write to say you were coming. Forgive me if I’m caught a bit off-guard.”

Nancy sighs, glaring at Hamish behind the bar who is doing his best to pretend he isn’t listening to their conversation while pouring drinks for his other patrons.

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

**~~O~~ **

_Bonny pulls testily at the rope binding her wrists behind her back to the timber pole. The hold of the ship rocks creakily, each sway of the ship filling her with more terror. She has never been so frightened by the prospect of being at sea, the rolling of the waves on the hull and gusts of wind slapping the Admiral’s sails greatening the distance between her and land._

_Her forehead still throbs from an ache the handle of a crewman’s sword had left._

_“Marius!” she shouts. “I know you’re there. I can smell your cologne.”_

_Her Captain drops through a hatch into the ship’s hold, the soles of his boots splashing in liquor spilt from the barrels stacked near the wall._

_His expression is stern as he approaches her. “How did you find out?”_

_“It was a wanted poster. I recognised your face.”_

_Marius sighs. “I thought I had done enough to change my appearance. It was never my plan for you to find out like this.”_

_“Did you kill them? My first Captain and his crew?” Her heart pangs at the thought of the old man’s face, He and his crew had taught her how to wield a sword and navigate at a ship’s helm. They had taken her under their care when she was without home or hope. “They were innocent, you bastard.”_

_She jerks her chin at Marius’s coat, weighed with medals that don’t even belong to him. “Who did you kill for that uniform?”_

_Marius hardens his jaw, pacing around her with his hand fondling another of his pocket watches. Even his simplest movements flare Bonny’s temper. She burns with the urge to hit him. “If one seeks to change their identity completely, it would be foolish of them not to engage in any research into the person they want to become. I spent several months poring over manuals and rulebooks to learn the etiquette of a navy captain before I commandeered one’s ship and stole his visage.”_

_“So, there is a Captain Marius. He’s just dead.”_

_“When you’ve spent so many years in my profession, you learn that loose ends are fatal. You were the exception, Bonny. After we boarded that ship and slew its crew to steal their cargo, the whole situation was presented to me on a platter. You were in your Captain’s quarters at the time, you remember?”_

_“There was a man who broke in and tried to kill us. He was Spanish.”_

_“My Quartermaster.” Marius nods, smiling. “He was a fine man. You were caught off-guard by our attack, but before you were rendered unconscious while defending your Captain, you dealt my Quartermaster a near-fatal wound that left him useless to me. I sent him off the ship with enough coin to retire early. He was gone by the time you woke up from your injuries.”_

_“You’re a slimy fucking wastrel,” Bonny spits in a seething voice._

_“I knew it would be a risk to keep you on board with us, but I couldn’t turn such an opportunity down. A fancy tale could easily be spun about what happened to your ship, that you fell prey to Spanish raiders and our ship passing by the wreckage of yours was a coincidence that saved your life, but now you know the story, and the fairy-tale has to end.”_

_“You had to know I’d find out about your ploy eventually.”_

_“I did, but you were quite dim at first. I had hoped our exchange might last longer. If I let you go, I’ll be a dead man. My men are the loyal sort when you keep their pockets lined, but the moment they sense weakness…”_

_“I hope they tear you apart. You deserve a slower death than by a hangman’s noose.”_

_“And you, a quicker one. Which is why I’m going to kill you fast,” Marius responds, drawing his sword. He slices through her ropes, Bonny flinching when the blade of the weapon touches her neck. Marius nods for her to stand, directing her towards the hatch that leads out of the ship’s cargo hold._

_When they emerge on deck, the sun stings Bonny’s eyes, the wind tousling her hair. She considers shoving Marius away and trying to run, but her crewmen_ — _his men_ — _are watching her hawk-eyed on deck. There wouldn’t be any point. When her feet slow and stumble, Marius drags her by the arm to the_ _side of the ship where she can see the waves churning below. He grabs onto the lapel of her coat, and her breath hitches in her throat, the pistol levelled at her chest._

_Flakes of powder burn her hands as the pistol fires and she clutches her chest. Her body jerks in anticipation of the roaring agony to follow, but none comes. Marius’s steel-cold eyes remain on her face. Bonny realising the truth a moment later._

_A blank? The pistol wasn’t loaded. Her mouth parts, but Marius shoves her backwards before the sigh of relief can leave her throat, the drop stealing the air from her lungs. Frigid seawater slaps into her stomach, soaking her clothes. Without looking back up at Marius on the ship, she swims for her life towards the strip of land in the distance._

**~~O~~ **

Bonny takes her to the inn down the street, leading Nancy upstairs to the room she is staying in. As Bonny sits down on the edge of the bed across the room, Nancy looks around the dreary space with its walls made of cracked plaster, its corners thick with dust and cobwebs.

“Where are all of your things?” Nancy asks.

“At the bottom of the ocean,” Bonny responds flatly, bending down to pick up a discarded bottle on the floor and finish its dregs.

Nancy winces, looking away. The emptiness inside the room reminds her of the rucksack slung over her shoulder. She undoes the bag, retrieving a familiar tricorne hat. “I brought this for you. You left it at mine.” She holds the hat out to Bonny, surprised by the repulsed look she is met with.

Bonny grimaces like the mere sight of the hat is enough to make her skin crawl with disgust. “Keep it. So, what is it you’re here for?” she asks, pulling a shirt over her shoulders. “Is it money? I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you in that regard.”

Nancy sits down next to Bonny on the bed, squinting at her like the answer should be obvious. “I came for you. I want to bring you back to London with me.”

Bonny laughs airily as though Nancy has told a bad joke. Her grin is cruel, sharp as a fishhook at the corner of her mouth. “And what would I do there? Spread my legs for men poor and proper in your house?”

“Anything is better than what you’re doing here.” Nancy lifts a gloved palm to Bonny’s cheek, stroking her thumb over the bruises dappling the skin. Threading her fingers through the sweat-sodden curls of Bonny’s dark hair, she sees the other woman’s expression soften. The lively light that used to fill her eyes has vanished, replaced by hauntingly dark undercircles. “Hurting yourself like this for a few coins, it isn’t living, Bonny."

Bonny closes her eyes for a moment, Nancy’s palm still on her cheek. Inhaling sharply, she swats Nancy’s hand aside. “You don’t understand. I don’t want anything you have to offer me,” she hisses to her scathingly. “Where were you months ago when you heard about what happened to me?”

“I was busy. I couldn’t leave London,” Nancy answers. “God, it tore at me not to be with you, Bonny. You know I wouldn’t lie to you about that. When I visited you last time, you wouldn’t wake up. There was nothing I could do.”

“Really? Because if I were you, I would have stayed. If something like that ever happened to you, I never would’ve left your side until you were awake and well again. I thought you’d do the same for me. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

“You had others,” Nancy whispers, at a loss for what else to say.

Bonny’s face twists. She screws her hands into fists, thumping them into her thighs. Her voice is pained and breaking as she speaks, tears prickling in her eyes. “I _needed_ you.” A cry bubbles in her throat, but Bonny swallows it down, running her hands over her face. “Get out.”

Nancy’s recoils, her voice wounded. “What?”

Bonny stands up, pointing towards the door. “Just get out, Nancy, I’m sick of your face already. Go back to London and find yourself another dame to occupy your time with.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

When Nancy refuses to move, Bonny seizes her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. Nancy twists to break free of her grip, snapping her booted foot back into Bonny’s shin so the other woman snarls and curses. Bonny’s hand finds the back of Nancy’s neck, trying to wrangle her towards the doorway, and Nancy lashes out at her with an elbow to the jawbone.

Releasing Nancy, Bonny staggers back. Her head whips around, and she flashes her teeth at Nancy in a vicious scowl.

“You’d never hurt me,” Nancy says, shaking her head. Even when Bonny steps forwards and winds her fist back threateningly, Nancy calls her bluff, not giving up any ground. Bonny drops her arm, but then she shoves Nancy backwards. She stumbles out of the room and stares at Bonny imploringly from the corridor. Before she can open her mouth to speak, however, the door is slammed shut in her face.

Nancy hurls herself against it, pounding the wood with her fists and shouting, “Bonny, open the door!”

Rage and terror flood her veins at the lack of a response. She kicks the wooden frame, causing it to shake on its hinges.

“ _Fucking now!_ ”

Footfalls echo from the nearby stairway, someone alerted by the noise. Whoever arrives to investigate the clamour is quick to leave again when Nancy screams in fury, landing blows against the door until her knuckles are bloody. Peering through the keyhole presents her with nothing but darkness. Bonny must be standing against the door, weighing it closed.

“If this is the path you’re choosing to take, I won’t come back!” Nancy threatens her, but then her voice goes quiet and shrivels into sad, pathetic whimpering like that of a child. She collapses, sinking to her knees on the floor.

“ _Please_.”

She doesn’t want this exchange to turn into a heinous memory that will taint all of the pleasant ones she has of them together.

Evidently from her silence, Bonny doesn’t care.

Picking herself up off the floor, Nancy forces a steadying breath into her lungs, dragging her arm across her face to wipe the tears streaking her cheeks.

She turns her head to give the door a final glance, trying to think of something vindictive to say that will leave a lasting mark on Bonny before she leaves. All of the “fuck you”’s and “go to hell”’s dry up on her tongue.

Nancy leaves the inn in silence, the tricorne hat under her arm, trudging out into the night to find a carriage that will take her back to London.


End file.
